The Vow
by iorwen
Summary: Brienne is once again a member of Sansa's Queensguard and finds herself conflicted when it comes to vows vs love. Although I think I may have done vows vs. lust more than love,


The moon door was still open, the screams of Littlefinger a sad, fresh memory, and a gust of cold wind blew through the room making the blade sing as Jaime swung it high before lightly bearing it down on either of her shoulders.

"Arise Ser Brienne, knight of the Queensguard."

It had been Sansa's first command to the battle worn Lannister and he obeyed if grudgingly.

"You do not think me worthy of the title Ser; after all we've been through?" Brienne frowned as she rose and swore her oaths to the stalwart young girl who now held the North in her command.

"Is it possible you still think a woman incapable of wielding a sword?"

Jaime snorted and ran his blood stained fingers through his golden, sweat stained hair.

"We both know that isn't true," he told her exasperated, "We all know, our young Ice Queen included, that you're more worthy of the title of knighthood than any man among us."

"Then why did you fight her on the point so?" Brienne inquired, her own self doubts rising like bile in her throat, "Why when you knew how much it would mean to me?"

Jaime's stance softened as he walked them both out of the room and down the hall to meet where their Queen and her loyal men gathered to leave for Winterfell.

"Because Brienne, I have come to grow fond of you, although why I should care for a wench who nearly led me to my death I do not know," he began and Brienne winced at the memory of Lady Stoneheart and her own near betrayal of her unlikely friend. She was about to offer her hundredth apology but he lifted his golden hand to stop her.

"And now, now Brienne, you will know what it is to be a member of the guard, what it is to betray your honour in order to uphold your vows. Or you will break those vows and know what it is to be called oath breaker."

Jaime told her staring at her wide blue eyes; he paused to marvel at their beauty in the dim light of the Vale's night sky.

"I fear that will break you," he said sadly and softly.

Brienne stood tall, squaring her broad shoulders and lifting her chin high so she rose just above him.

"I will not break my vows; I will honour them and fulfill my duties to the Queen of the North. I will do this in memory of her Lady mother and for the future she promises me, promises to both of us. I will not break my vows."

But Jaime had been right in a way. It was becoming increasingly difficult for the Maid of Tarth to hold true. Yet it was the one vow she thought would easily be kept and yet temptation seemed to be cruelly testing her, temptation and Ser Jaime Lannister.

…

It had begun well enough. Sansa had gathered about her a myriad of runaways, miscreants and the usual ragtag followers and although most seemed either too rough to be trusted or war worn and past their prime, they all proved loyal to their winter Queen. Brienne was proud to serve along side the likes of Ser Hyle Hunt, Pod, the Hound and Gendry the Blacksmith. And of course there was Ser Jaime, whom along with her, had found a raven haired girl named Alayne and brought forth the Stark heir and rightful Queen of the North.

She thought back to those first few days as they made their way from the Vale, spreading the word that the Stark girl was alive and about to reclaim what was rightfully hers. It was a tough road and her thoughts were focused on keeping the girl safe and making their way back to her northern home. Jaime rarely entered her mind except when he was annoying her with one of his jests or lewd remarks to get a rise out of her. But now, now that they were here things had been different.

The winter was long and cruel and the rebuilding of Winterfell painfully slow. Brienne watched from her position just behind Sansa; the men outside the Queen's chamber window were breaking stone for the west wing.

"They are advancing well don't you think Ser?" the Queen noted as she nibbled on some brown bread drizzled with honey, a gift from a southern lord seeking asylum inside her walls.

"Yes, Your Grace," Brienne responded automatically, her attention elsewhere.

The morning sun was rising high but the air was still cool and she could see the men's breath on the wind. She watched intently as Jaime hauled some rock to where Gendry stood waiting. The effort was great and his muscles strained under the weight, flexing to show through the rough spun tunic he wore during labour. She imagined his breath exhaling hot as his lungs took in the frigid atmosphere. He dropped the stone at the blacksmith's feet and raised his golden hand to wipe the beads of sweat that marked his forehead. It gleamed in the sunlight and dazzled Brienne's vision so she was blinded for a moment. She closed her eyes and saw stars, little white lights flickering around an image of a golden man sinking into the bath with her.

"Brienne? Brienne!"

"Yes my Lady? I mean Your Grace?" the Maid of Tarth stumbled, blushing slightly as if caught by her Septa doing something naughty.

"Are you alright Ser?"

"I? Yes, quite. I was simply admiring the work," she said gesturing to the window.

Sansa peered over the tall woman's shoulder to see Ser Jaime laughing at some clever remark one of the men had just said.

"Yes, the work, of course," Sansa replied with a bemused grin upon her face.

…

They had called her the Kingslayer's whore but Brienne was still the Maid of Tarth, in body at least. Her thoughts had increasingly drifted to places no good girl's should go, and certainly no places a member of the Queensguard should go. She had worked and fought her whole life for this moment, for this position of honour and respect. However, Jaime Lannister was flooding both her waking and sleeping thoughts and she was feebly fighting it each and every day. Her resolve being chipped away like stone under a mason's chisel.

"I am a member of the Queensguard," Brienne reproached herself as she repeated the vows she made to Sansa as she knelt on the marble floor of the Eyrie. She mouthed the words quietly as she walked into the armory on a faintly lit early morning, her head down, her eyes almost closed to picture the memory more clearly.

"Talking to yourself Wench?"

Brienne's head flew up at the sound of Jaime's deep voice.

"They say the long dark days of the North can drive a man mad," Jaime continued not noticing the dilation of her pupils as she watched him readying himself to clean his sword.

"So little light, and the harsh cold winds, the isolation," he continued as he grabbed a white cloth that lay at his feet.

Brienne watched as his fingers wrapped around the soft fabric, imagining how they might feel coiled around her hair. Her own hand absentmindedly rose to sweep through her straw like strands in the same manner.

"It's a wonder how any one stands it, how I stand it," Jaime talked on but the newly anointed knight heard none of it. His voice was like a thrumming in her ears, a battered grizzly beat to match the drum of her heart in her chest as her eyes followed his every move.

He sat on a wooden stool and laid the broad sword across his lap. Jaime rose slightly to adjust his breeches, lifting and pulling them up his muscular legs to make himself more comfortable before sitting back down again.

"I'm surprised at how these men took to a slip of a girl ruling their lands. I thought we'd have a tougher time to convince them, they seem so rough, almost as barbaric at those wildling cousins of theirs that have spilled into these parts. But desperate times…" Jaime prattled on as Brienne's eyes narrowed and focused on his hands.

The golden one lay flat upon the lion head hilt, holding it in place as his left began to clean the Valyrian steel blade. With careful and deliberate strokes, Jaime swept up and down, up and down, in a steady, sound rhythm. The tip of his tongue came out to rest along the corner of his mouth as he applied soft but firm pressure, rubbing little circles to a spot he noticed near the tip.

Brienne licked her chapped lips, her tongue gliding over the tops of her protruding front teeth. She swallowed hard and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her breeches were beginning to stick to her feverish skin and she felt faint.

"Are you alright?" Jaime said lifting his head to look at her with scrunched up eyebrows.

"You're sweating," he said getting up and placing his weapon upon the seat.

"I'm fine, it's just rather warm in here," she said swiping at the hair that had come to fall wet and clingy, in front of her eyes.

"No it's not, it's damn near freezing like it always is in this gods forsaken ice palace," Jaime said as he took a step closer. Concern flooded his expression as her face flushed in the morning sun that shone through the window.

"Let me check to see if you're running a fever," he said and raised his hand to place it upon her sticky brow.

Brienne swatted it away, "You're right, I may be ill. Best I go see Maester Samwell before he leaves for the Wall."

She turned on her heels and left as quickly as she could.

…

Peasant and nobleman mingled, ate, drank and laughed together. The Snow Queen was adamant that everyone who worked on rebuilding the western wall of Winterfell would partake in the feast. The celebration wasn't grand by any standards, the winter rations were still in place and delicacies few and far between. But there was mead, lemon cakes and wine and there was music. A bard had come and with him a band of musicians looking for a respite from the bitter road. Most of their songs were sad, tales of the war with the Others, of death and destruction. But there was also songs of heroes, of men braving the unknown, of a leader with a flaming sword dressed all in black to save Westeros, and of a young Queen the wildlings called kissed by fire, a Queen to bring forth peace and hope.

Sansa laughed and led a frowning and swearing Sandor onto the dance floor, pushing him towards a twirling Pia before moving onto another unsuspecting soul and pairing him up.

Brienne stood with her back to the wall watching dutifully as the others rejoiced.

"Quite the meeting of ruffians and rogues," Jaime commented grasping a mug of ale and leaning his shoulder against the cold stone beside her.

Brienne ignored him, her eyes focused on the Queen and the reveling crowd. She had the same dream she had been having for nights on end, just a few hours ago; Jaime in the bath, the steam rising off his skin, the heat of his body engulfing her. She had awoken with her heart racing and dampness pooling between her thighs.

Brienne swallowed and tried not to think of his breath hot on her neck as he whispered to her.

"Look at that fool," Jaime said as he gestured to the burnt man, "Pia will have him wrapped around her finger by night's end and poor Pike drowning his sorrow in his cups."

"Your breath smells of stale mead," Brienne said and pushed him away, the feel of his hair as it brushed her neck, tickled sending shivers through out her body.

"You should try some instead of looking so morose," Jaime said and offered his cup to her which she waved off.

"Come on Wench, it is a party after all."

Brienne scowled, "I'm on duty, as are you I may remind you Ser."

Jaime let out a huff and put the cup down on a near by table.

"If a drink won't rouse your spirits, perhaps a dance will."

Brienne's eyebrow arched up but before she could say anything Jaime had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her onto the floor.

"I can't," she protested.

"Of course you can," Jaime laughed.

"I must watch the Queen!"

Jaime looked over his shoulder and gestured with a nod of his head, "She's with Gendry. She'll be perfectly safe. Come now, the song is a ballad with no difficult steps."

The music had indeed changed from a raucous jig to a melodic and slow lilt. Had the candle light dimmed as well? Brienne hadn't noticed before but the room had grown darker and quiet and she was painfully aware of the little space between them.

"Relax Wench," Jaime said as his golden hand came to rest at the small of her back, his left hand grasping her right.

"Dancing is like sword fighting. You anticipate my move and step back," he said sliding her back and to the left.

"Now you do the same and so on."

Jaime led her smoothly across the dance floor, his movements like silk. For once, Brienne didn't stumble; for once she didn't feel like a lumbering fool afraid she'd trample her partner's toes. They glided together effortlessly like a dream until Jaime's emerald eyes locked with her sapphire ones. They stared deeply at one another before he leaned in softly, his head tilting to the side as he gazed at her full mouth.

Brienne felt the blood rush to her face.

"I must attend to my duties," she told him disentangling herself from his arms abruptly.

"Brienne," Jaime said her name gently.

"I thank you for the dance Ser but I must go now," she said and ran as quickly as she could through the other dancers and out the door leaving a bewildered Jaime alone in the centre of the room.

Brienne fled to the sanction of her chamber and closed the door behind her. She scanned the room as she tried to restore her breath to normal. It was decorated simply enough, a wooden chair carved with suns and crescents on its arms and legs sat in a corner, her father's coat of arms hanging above her dressing area, the Stark direwolf on the other side. In the centre was the bed, a narrow cot with a thin pillow at its head, across it lay furs dyed sapphire blue, a gift from the Queen as thanks for her loyal service.

Brienne looked at the bed to comfort herself but soon the dreams came back to her and more visions swam into her eye's mind. The feel of Jaime's fingers entwined with hers, the press of his chest against her own as he guided her around and around the feasting hall flooded her body. Her tiny nipples grew hard and ached to feel his weight upon them again and she pictured him laying her down upon the bed, sinking into the warm furs as her hands grasped the blood red tunic he wore as she rushed to raise it over his golden head.

"Brienne," Jaime's voice rang through her ears.

"Brienne, are you in there?"

She jumped as the sound knocked her out of her reverie and she realized he was on the other side of the door. Her eyes grew wide with fear and embarrassment.

"Go away," she cried out.

"Open the door Brienne," Jaime replied rattling the handle.

"I, I can't," she said, "I'm indisposed."

_Please go away,_ her thoughts begged, _please_.

"I'll stand here all night if I have to. Now open the door woman!"

He waited but she made no movement towards the door, hoping he'd grow tired and leave.

"Open the door you stubborn, stupid wench or I'll knock it down myself!"

Brienne grew suddenly furious. Why couldn't he just respect her wishes for once and do as she said? She marched to the door and swung it open with all her might ready to lecture him on courtesies and the proper behaviour of knights. Jaime was just about to put his shoulder to the wooden frame and he stumbled, falling into her with a thud. She grabbed hold of him but the force knocked them both down and they fell, he upon her.

"Well now," he said with a grin as he lifted himself slightly so his weight was evenly distributed across the long length of her, "This is much better."

"Get off me," she demanded but he had pinned her down with his thighs and arms.

"There's no use fighting it Brienne. I told you once, I was strong enough to over power you, to fling you down."

Brienne kneed him and spun him so his back flipped onto the slate floor. He groaned but laughed as she scrambled to her feet.

"Brienne, what's the matter? Why did you leave the party?" he asked.

"Did no one tell you it's discourteous to leave your dance partner before the song is finished?"

"I told you, I had duties to attend to."

"What here, alone in your chambers?" Jaime said as he stood up with a slight grimace.

He moved closer and closer to her until he had backed her up against the wall. Her head hit the tapestry behind her, a knight leaning down from his horse to reach for his lady's favour.

"What duty do you perform here, in the night, alone and in the dark?" Jaime whispered his eyes roaming over her freckled skin.

"Jaime please," she pleaded her voice soft and low.

"Please what?" he whispered his breath caressing her face as he moved his lips ever closer to hers.

"I can't" she told him near tears, her chest heaving before he pressed his own to it.

"Why can't you?" he asked his eyes holding her own in a trance.

"I made a vow," she said more to herself than to him.

He laughed lightly, "Have you learned nothing from all the time you've spent with me?"

He wetted his lips as his fingers brushed their tips over the scar on her cheek.

"Vows were made to be broken."

And with those last words he closed the little space left between them and kissed her. His lips bruised her tender ones, taking the breath out of her as his fingers wrapped around the back of her head sinking into her hair. Brienne's eyes fluttered shut, finally giving in to the months of torment and temptation.

_Yes_, she thought, _they will call me oathbreaker now too_, but this one vow at least she would not keep.


End file.
